Dead Man's Switch: Deadstroke
by SinghSong
Summary: Some Celestial Being or another decides to spice things up by switching the mind of Slade Wilson with that his parallel universe counterpart, Wade Wilson. How will Deadpool fare in Deathstroke's body, in his position? And with him on the loose, however will Jump City, the Teen Titans and all of the other heroes and villains of the DCAU manage to cope?
1. Ready or Not

Slade Wilson blinked. An almost unrecognizable version of himself, with both eyes intact, but with no facial hair whatsoever, and with a skin condition which made it look like it had been the unfortunate recipient of one of the Joker's acid baths, winked back at him, deliberately keeping its right eye shut to mimic his own missing eye. Reacting in an instant, lightning quick and barely flustered, Slade reached for his twin katanas- or rather, tried to. Unfortunately though, it seemed that he'd been rendered utterly incapable of moving his limbs somehow...

"Yo. Hey there, my mild-mannered alternate super-ego. Whassup...?"

He couldn't turn his head either- but he could still move his eye, his face, his jaw. And his tongue, blatantly enough- his defaced, mangled clone appeared to be subject to exactly the same invisible, intangible binds which he'd been placed under, and its mouth had been moving this whole time, its tongue flapping away incessantly to the extent that the only apparent explanation was that it seemed to suffer from some form of logorrhea. Symptomatic of Tourette's, OCD, ADHD, or all of the above. Or maybe it was just Bizarro-style crazy, as so many evil scientists' cloning attempts tended to be...

"So, what's with that suit of yours? Orange and Black, huh? Sorry, totally not feeling it. Especially not with all those metal armor plates everywhere. I mean, come on- _No one_ wants to be that lame-o Ghost Rider, know what I'm saying? And you're just a few spikes, some hell-fire flaming metal chains and a Harley Davidson away from being reduced to _that_ undead, flaming skeletal sad-sack, getting stuck with that cliched role of being the servant of Satan for all eternity. Dude. Don't ever let that happen to you..."

Or, alternately, it was just the single-most capable, insightful and adept combatant in personal, psychological warfare that he'd ever faced. Which did make sense, given that it seemed to be a clone of himself- clad in a glaringly blood-red suit which was otherwise a blatant rip-off of his own, equipped with the same dual katana sword holsters on its back and pistol holsters on its utility belt. He'd been able to tell in an instant that he wasn't wearing his mask any more, and it wasn't wearing a mask either. It appeared that H.I.V.E. had really outdone themselves this time...

Gritting his teeth, collecting his thoughts, Slade blocked it out, scanning the background- as much of it as he could anyway. Which wasn't much, given his already inherently limited field of vision, combined with the fact that this defaced master-of-irritation clone of himself had been planted right up in his face, with its nose only four inches or so away from his own. But he could see enough to affirm that he wasn't back in Trigon's sulfurous domain of hellfire and brimstone, even if this did seem uncannily similar to the manner in which he'd been summoned there. This setting seemed markedly more- astral. Black, with several lights dotted all over the place which appeared to be stars, based on their spectral patterns and their minuscule fluctations, consistent with surface flares and sunspots. Slade also observed that both he and his clone weren't actually standing upon anything, but seemed to be levitated somehow, held aloft in the middle of a vast, bottomless void.

"Interesting. What is this? What's going on?"

His clone shrugged- drawing a raised eyebrow from Slade, and inducing another surge of impotent rage when he realised that somehow, inexplicably, he was incapable of moving his shoulders and acheiving the same feat. "Beats me. But hey, it sure beats loafing around on the couch for three days straight, blowing my brains in with boredom waiting for the next contract to come rolling in. These lot need to get a move on though- the build of the dramatic tension's kind of plateaued off, and it'll tail off and take a nose-dive if they keep leaving us hanging here much longer, trying to stoke it up further. Another ten seconds, and we'll be so far into overhype territory that there'll be literally no expose big enough to live up to it..."

 **Greetings, Mortals. Misters Slade and Wade Wilson, Deathstroke and Deadpool, parallel counterparts from the Universes Animate DC and Marvel respectively.**

"Well, it's about time. Deesee, huh? Weird. Kinda sounds a bit like Disney. Bet you didn't even get to use your super-tag over there, 'cause it wasn't kid-friendly enough..."

Ignoring his clone's- counterpart's? Wade's? Inane rambling, Slade smoothed his expression, adopting the deadpan face and tone of voice which he preferred to use for situations such as these. "Well, you appear to have me at a disadvantage. For the time being, at least. Enjoy it while you can."

"...Ooh, loving the Hannibal Lecter vibe. _Soon, I will have you begging for mercy, and there is, nothing, you can do, to stop it_. Now you're getting it! _That's_ the kind of badass I'm talking about!"

 **You two have been chosen, ahead of an infinite number of other parallel selves, and brought together here, summoned from across the infinite reaches of time, space and dimensions, to be granted a most magnificent opportunity.**

"Meh. If I had a dime for every time I heard that, I'd be richer than Scrooge McDuck..."

"I'm ashamed to say that I actually find myself agreeing with- my other self. I'm not particularly impressed."

 **You are both failures. Incessant failures, always thwarted in your ultimate aspirations by those who would foil and oppose you.**

Wade frowned for a moment, creasing up his already damaged and contorted face, before offering another flippant, if-you-say-so shrug. Slade's eye and nostrils flared, burning with cold rage at having his grand schemes and achievements dismissed in such a manner.

 **No longer. You will both be granted a fresh start- you will switch places with one another, in your respective realities.**

Wade's eyes lit up with glee. "Oh, YES! Crossover special! This gonna be a RIOT! Fetch me my checkbook- I'm booking a one-way ticket to manifest destiny, right now, and ain't no-one gonna stop me...!"

"Oh yes someone is." Slade spat, disgusted with Wade's naive enthusiasm. "I make it my business to know who I'm dealing with, and why. Who are you, and what do you want in return? And is this a one-way deal?"

 **I am, what I am. What I want, is to simply bear witness to the results, and to see how much better the two of you will fare against one anothers' foes than you did against your own. If you both meet with failure, then you will be returned to your original places; if you both find success, the switch will become permanent, and you will be allowed to remain in each others' places indefinitely.**

"Nothing personal, but I trust no-one, and believe in nothing. Especially not unidentified, supposedly divine entities offering me the keys to rule a new world on a silver platter, with no terms, catches or conditions. Why should I believe a word of what you're saying, or that you'll hold to your end of the bargain?"

 **I have no need to lie. This is not a bargain- one such as myself, omniscient and omnipresent, does not make deals. I do not ask- I dictate, and I command. And I command that you provide an answer, knowing as I already do what your answer will be. Of all of your parallel selves, you are the most dictatorial Master of Order- unlike your polar opposite, the most anarchic Lord of Chaos.**

Slade narrowed his eyes, giving his parallel counterpart the once-over yet again, but in a new light. Wade's enthusiasm had abruptly vanished with trace, to be almost instantly replaced by boredom; even as he watched, the man stuck out his tongue, and started using it to poke up his nostrils, as if experimenting to see how far up it could go.

 **Do you doubt your own capability to impose your will, Deathstroke? Or will you be confident enough to seize the opportunity, and make it your own?**

"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I don't really have a choice. Very well- I accept your offer."

 **And you, Deadpool? Are you inclined to break the balance, and to be the harbinger of chaos and disorder?**

"Eh? Oh yeah, sure, whatever. I'm game."

 **Then let the switch commence!**

In an imperceptible instant, Slade suddenly found himself staring, not at his polar opposite, but at his own face, devoid of its eyepatch. Yanking his new tongue back down, out of the wet nostril into which it had been deeply wedged, he blinked, trying to accustom himself to having perfect 50-50 binocular vision once more. And to accustom himself to the constant sensation of pain, racking his entire body- but with it, and the accompanying realization that his new body possessed a healing factor which was markedly superior to that possessed by his old body, a faint smirk asserted itself on his face.

"Soo..."

 ** _Sigh_ \- Yes, and let the two of you be sent to each other's world forthwith. Fare well...**

"Oh, I most certainly shall..." Looks be damned- he never removed his mask anyway. _And he would accomplish truly great things in this body, of that he had no doubt_...

"You're the best, Eternity. Tell Kismet I said hi, 'kay? Now, let's get to having some fun-time..."


	2. Here I Come

**Here I Come**

* * *

Plonk. Aah, now that's more like it. Gee, this was a nice seat. Smiling, still humming that song which had suddenly planted itself in that vintage jukebox which randomly popped up in a corner of his head on a pretty regular basis, Deadpool ran his hands over it, feeling it, sinking back into the plush, oriental leather upholstery. My my, we sure have got a su-weet mercenary pad over here, don't we? All this place needs is a jacuzzi section over there in the corner, next to that shark tank, so we can be warm and comfy when we go sleeping with our lovely pet fishies, and it'll be perfect. Well, that, and we could knock in a bit of the ceiling, get some natural lighting in here that way. And convert a few of those ninja robot fighters into ninja robot housemaids, so as to entertain large groups of guests when they come a-knocking on our door.

And take those- what the heck were those? Bo staffs? For real? How frickin' lame was that? He was a super-freaky ninja of death, not, not- Gambit-dalf the Gray Cajun! He did things his way- slicey, dicey and stabby, not wacky, thwacky and pokey! Though, come to think of it, when he put it that way, the second one did actually kinda sound better, catchier somehow. Damnit- guess I have to save a few of those staffs after all now, for next time. Curse catchphrase catchiness! Still, there was no way he needed that many. Didn't matter how catchy the phrase may be; he was still taking at least sixty of those sixty-six metal staffs (Ooh, special number! Maybe this me does have a Ghost Rider kinda shtick goin' on after all? Called it!) bolting them into platforms and planting a big open forest of strip-poles. Sure, they'd just be bare trunks to start off with- but winter had just come to an end, and the season of spring had just started. T'was the season to be getting it up- soon enough, he'd see to it that all sixty of them burst into life and became beautiful strip-trees, each playing host to its own luscious, wet and fresh lady, just for him... _Oh, I am SO touching myself tonight_...

There was a whole heap of other stuff he wanted to do with the place too, but that could all be worked out later. For now though, it was time for you-know-who to go take a look at the brand-new you-know-who. To you, to me, to you, to me... This new face wasn't bad- certainly an improvement on the original. But it could still use a fair bit of tuning-up. The grayish-white hair- nope, think we're definitely gonna take a pass on that one. I'm getting a new paint job- Red, of course. What else? Now, the style- ponytail, huh? Dunno about that. Ooh, let's go with something a bit more Predator-y; cane rows, or dreadlocks. That'd be just the ticket. And of course, that eye NEEDED sorting out- seriously, hadn't this dude ever heard of a little something called 'depth perception'? How come it wasn't growing back? Did our other self, over here, even have a healing factor at all? Only one way to find out. Nonchalantly, he pulled one of this guy's pistols out of its holster (packing the Deagles, huh? Point five-o, Action Express? Good choice. And with a custom paint job as well? Sweet!) Took off the safety, placed it against the side of his face, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

OUCH! Urgh... Barely. Hugely disappointed, Deadpool puffed his cheeks out in exasperation- blowing a loud rasping whistle out through both of the new holes punched out by the bullet, running his tongue over the teeth which had been chipped along the way. Sure, he could feel the tissue starting to regenerate and repair itself, but it was only doing so at a snail's pace. Seriously, at this rate, a whole half hour could just breeze on by, and this tiny wound still wouldn't even be fully healed! No wonder the other guy was so grim,so sullen and down-in-the-dumps all the time. How the heck was he supposed to have fun if he couldn't even put bullets through his own brain, or hack limbs off himself, without having to lay around waiting for a day and a half until they finally managed to grow back? That'd be SOOO BORING!

Screw it- he wasn't going to go cold turkey, no sirree. Dang- guess we'll have to make up for it by upping the body count, going out there to blow out more peoples' brains and slicing more of them apart, instead of just doing it with ourselves when we get bored. Such a shame... But then again, come to think of it, maybe this was an opportunity. Guess it had been kind of lame, what he'd been doing to himself before. After all, even with that sweet healing factor of ours, what type of weebo satisfied his cravings by locking himself away in an empty room and playing with himself all the time? I do! But nah, that wasn't the answer. The sad, lonely and desperate type, that's who. Not any more- I mean, come on! Dude. I'm Deadpool!

Deadpool can't be a weebo- Deadpool's a REAL man, a Real Alpha (TM), and REAL ALPHAS, LIKE ME, we go out there into the big bad world and find someone else to have his happy times with- again and again until they're totally shredded, like a great big hunk of cheese tossed into a meat grinder. Then, go straight out to find another new one; and another, and another... Hmm, maybe this was a good thing. He'd been living life the beta way for too long- now, it was time to take Alpha Flight (ooh, calling patent pending on that one- that's a keeper), time to take his ticket to the next level of sexiness. And speaking of tickets...

"Hey there, Jeeves. Or is it Jarvis? So hard to keep track..."

"It's- Wintergreen, sir. Are you quite alright?"

"But of course I am. Never better- though I will be. A whole heap better, soon enough. So, pray tell, exactly how much DO you know about me, Winterworth?"

"I... That is, I believe that I... Well, I have been your faithful manservant for more than fifteen years now, so I couldn't but help..."

"Wow- Has it been fifteen years? Fifteen? My, how the time's flown by... Excellent. In that case, since my memory's a teensy bit fluffy, think you could help me clear up a few trivial details? No pressure. Honest- pinky swear."

"I, I..."

"Please. Pennygreen, my man- my main man! There's nothing to worry about, nothing at all, really; just think of this as a little pop quiz. And think of this pistol, which I'm spinning around in my hand right now, fully loaded and without the safety on, as my little elimination buzzer."

The butler just stood there for a while, stock still, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish in a bowl. It looked pretty funny- but like a goldfish, it got old real fast. And he'd never had a goldfish that lived longer than, oh, seven minutes forty-three seconds; after that, it became far more enjoyable to just un-alive the boring little thing. Pulling up his sleeve to check the time on his watch, Deadpool tutted loudly when he realized that this him hadn't even bothered to wear one. I mean, come on- punctuality matters, people! Though, he did seem to be able to keep the time really well in this new brain of his, far better than he could in the old one. Maybe the other me didn't need a watch, and just always kept counting away in the back of his head, ticky-tocky-ticky-tocky?

Clearing his throat, Deadpool leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together. Making sure to leave the 'shrinkey-pinkeys' out, keeping them fully extended against one another, and pressing them up against his chin. Sorry, did he say chin? He meant, pushing the tips of his pinkey fingers up into his beard, 'cause he totally had a beard now. Gonna take a while to get used to THAT...

"Now, you say you're my faithful manservant- so, does that mean that you're like my older male sugar-boy-toy or something? 'Cause sorry, no offence, but I'm not really feeling in the fetish for the dirty-old-man tag right about now; don't think I'll be calling on you to perform _those_ duties for quite a while..."

"What? That I'm- No. NO! Of course not! How could you think- how dare you say that?! That's just, just, _sick_...!"

"Mmhm? Good, good. See, now that was MUCH better. Definitely feeling the tsundere- have to say, you're totally great at it. Mind-blowingly good- almost making me consider reconsidering that decision now. Anyhoo, next question- How'd I get my powers? Who gave me my superpowers?"

"But- don't you know, sir? How could you possibly forget?"

"Now now, Winterworth," Deadpool said, wagging his finger. "You already know that I know- I know that you know that I know. Don't you? Answers, chop-chop! Or should I say-" BANG-BANG! The two bullets cannoned into the ceiling of the- Deadcave? Large, crumbled portions of the ceiling cascaded down on the two of them, white, just like confetti at a wedding. Or like ashes, at an impromptu cremation.

"So? Spill the beans, talk me through it. And don't leave anything out, you hear me? Except for the intimate details of all the hot, steamy sex scenes- we do have to uphold our T rating, after all."

"It, was in the X-Terminator Program..."

"So, that was the name of Project X over here, huh? Way less subtle- a lot more 'in your face'. I like that..." Deadpool grinned, reclining in his seat, before frowning and glaring at the butler, who'd trailed off and gone back to staring in bewilderment again. How very rude... "Well? Go on- I didn't tell you to stop. Give me all of the nasty, gory little details."

"Well, we first met over in Vietnam- I saved you from being killed when your army unit taking heavy fire. Around a year later though, you returned the favor, and went mercenary after you defied orders to rescue me from a suicide mission I'd been sent on by a commanding officer who held a grudge against me. Excuse my manners, but that man was a complete and utter bastard... Anyway, you were totally different then, I could tell- and you decided to confide in me and tell me me the truth. That you'd been chosen for a secret experiment by the US Army, and imbued with enhanced physical powers, as part of their X-Terminator program to create meta-human super soldiers for the U.S. military."

"How? What'd they use?"

"You, never went into the precise details, and I never wanted to pry..."

"Oh, poop. Fine, fine, whatever. So, if I've got a healing factor, how come I'm still minus an eye? Seems a bit weird that I can't heal one tiny little eye, doesn't it?"

"I, well, I really don't know, sir. I couldn't say- but I believe that it may have something to do with how you sustained that injury, and how you lost that eye. You- well, are you sure you're willing to talk about this? When your, younger son, Joseph, got taken hostage, and ended up getting his throat slashed before you could finish killing his kidnappers? Your former wife, his mother, Adeline, was incensed at you for having allowed him to come to harm, and tried to kill you, shooting out your eye. And you said that you deserved it- that she was right to do so, and that you'd willingly bear the scar of that failure. I'm just hazarding a guess here, but my belief was that you deliberately chose not to regenerate that eye- that you chose to leave it as a symbol of that loss, both of your son's voice and of your wife's love."

" _Sniff, sniff_... PPFFFF!" Deadpool reached for his new orange and black mask, blowing his nose loudly into it, before tossing it across in the butler's face. "That, is so, SO sad! I lost my special girl, AND my precious little boy's voice? No wonder! I'm never, never regrowing this eye again..." Still sniffling, he wiped the tears away from his working eye. Then, shrugged it off in the space of a few seconds. "Ah well, never mind. Guess I'll just have to go with option B then. Cybernetics it is- if it's good enough for Cable, it'll have to do the business for me as well. And that way, I'll really look the part too. ' _I am Deadpool de Terminator- prepare to be X-terminated_ '. Ooh, me likey...!"

WEEOOWEEOOWEEOOW! The massive plasma screen with the sick built-in gaming console lit up, with a flashing red T set in the middle of a circle flashing across it. "Er, Greeny- what does that mean? Have I won a prize?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose. The Teen Titans are out and about again- would you like to keep them under covert surveillance, per the norm?"

"Wait- the what now? 'Teen Titans'- ooh, is that a girl band? Sweet! Have we got any shower videos?"

" _You have got to be kidding me_... No, sir. The Teen Titans. Robin, Raven, Starfire, Cyborg, and Beast Boy; your arch-nemeses, the ones who've been trying to bring you down for the last few years now. Does it ring a bell?"

"Oh? OH! Yeah, THOSE titans. Well... You know what? I've got a better idea. If they're my arch-neme-sissies, then why don't I just go out there, confront them, and then skewer them like teenage shish kebabs? Great idea, huh?"

Wintergreen blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. "Are- are you quite sure, sir? I mean, wouldn't it be- that it, you've never..."

"I know, Wintey; but it's a brand new day! And quite frankly, I'm bored to shit with playing hide-and-seek. Nah- now, it's time to go out there and switch things up. Who's up for _katana-tag_?!"


End file.
